


Healing

by Luthorchickv2



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Domestic Tormund, First Time, Jon's recovery from death, M/M, Post episode 6.2, Trauma, unrealistic trauma recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-25
Updated: 2019-05-27
Packaged: 2020-03-14 17:31:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18952702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luthorchickv2/pseuds/Luthorchickv2
Summary: Jon can't feel anything after returning from the dead. Tormund takes him away and helps him feel again.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I sat down to write a short d/s smut fic and this happened instead. I have no idea. Part 2 will be up tomorrow.
> 
> This is a slight AU after Jon comes back from the dead. He still has the conversation with Davos. But Sansa doesn’t arrive at Castle Black for a little while longer. This takes place in that in-between time. 
> 
> Comments and Kudos are treasured.

John sits in the Lord Commander's quarters as close to the fire as he can get. He hasn’t felt warm since coming back, no matter how many furs he wears or how long Ghost pretends he is a pampered lords lap dog. And every time he closes his eyes to sleep he remembers the nothing and wakes again. 

He thinks there should be meaning in the flames but, like death, there is nothing, just the flicker of light and crackle of wood. 

He has died, been murdered, betrayed and there should be anger or fear or something but he is numb. No that’s not true, he is tired, so very very tired and for the first time in a long time no sense of what is to come, aside from winter. 

He’s done his duty, like his father and carried out the executions. He’s hung a boy younger then Bran and he can’t feel anything. 

The door opens behind him, and there’s only one person who would do so with knocking. Tormund stops over to him and glares down at him. 

“Right, you have been sulking here too long, little crow. You are coming with me. Get some sweet northern air into you.”

Jon flinches away from the hand Tormund has put on his shoulder. He doesn’t want to be touched, he’s unnatural and scarred and feels like he no longer fits in his own skin. 

“Leave me be.” He snaps. 

“No, I’ve given you your space. No more. Here.” Tormund throws a cloak over Jon. It’s not cloak of the watch. Job figures it will take less effort to just go along with the larger man and shrugs it over his shoulders and rise to follow him out. 

The air is crisp and cold and clean he thinks as he pulls breath into a body that shouldn’t be breathing. It is morning, he notes absently. The fourth such one he has stolen from death. 

Ghost twines around his legs and Jon almost trips into Tormund. 

Tormund steers him to two saddled horses and Jon realized the older man has been planning this. The horses have bulging packs attached to the saddles and Jon thinks about protesting and decides it’s not worth the effort. 

“How long are we going to be gone?” He asks idly not actually carding about the answer. 

“For as long as it takes, boy. Now get, we have a ways to go.” 

Jon waves off a concerned looking Edd and pulls himself up onto the horse. 

He trusts Tormund and besides what’s the worst that can happen? He dies? 

Tormund leads the way through the gate and turns west away from the castle, and along the wall, Ghost trotting along beside them. 

Jon thinks about asking where they are going but it’s nice, not having to make a decision. He keeps making the wrong ones, after all, and letting someone else lead is a relief. 

They stop at an abandoned farmhouse a few hours later. Jon had known the family that lived here, a farmer, his wife and their daughter. But it looks like no one has lived here for months and he wonders what happened to them. 

“This is us. Come on.” Tormund dismounts and starts untying the pack from his horse. He hands it to Jon who has already has his in hand. 

“Take this in. Unpack yours, but leave mine alone. I left a couple of packs here yesterday. Leave those. I’ll be in when I take care of the beasties.” 

Jon nods and carries them, glad for the clear instruction. 

The farmhouse is small, but cosy. The door into the cooking area, dominated by a large hearth and metal tub. There are barrels of water lined along a wall. The space is clean, the firewood fresh and he wonders who Tormund got to take care of it. He drops his cloak and leaves Tormund’s pack on the table and his on the floor. The kitchen opens into a living area with another huge hearth. There is a stack of fresh wood next to the fireplace and a pile of clean furs on the floor in front of it. Tormund clearly has a plan and has prepared. 

He heads back to the kitchen and starts to empty his pack. He’s confused, or would be if he cared enough. Inside his pack are a couple of sets of sinfully soft tunics and leggings. They are the most impractical clothing for the north he has ever seen. There a couple vials of liquid wrapped in a sock and he puts those to the side. At the bottom are a tinderbox and lighter, and a smaller packet that he leaves alone. He turns back to the living area and kneels to start a fire. 

“Ah good. We need to get that fire nice and hot.” Tormund enters and shakes of his cloak. He kneels beside Jon and together they have a roaring fire in minutes. Tormund leaves Jon and he can hear him starting a fire in the kitchen hearth. 

Jon stays kneeling in front of the fire. He closes his eyes and imagines he can feel the heat. He hears Tormund and opens his eyes to see the redhead gazing at him. He doesn’t understand the expression on the other’s face and looks away. 

Jon is finally curious enough to ask. “What are we doing here, Tormund?” 

Tormund pauses in the act of peeling off his boots. 

“Sometimes, when a body has gone through too much, they behave as you and need help feeling again. I’ve put too much effort into you now to let you waste away on me, boy.”

Jon rubs a hand over where the wound over his heart lies. 

“It feels like I’ll never be whole again.”

Tormund stands again, furs and outer layers off and it occurs to Jon that he has never seen the man without his many layers. Under the furs and wraps he dressed in a very basic worn grey shirt and breeches. He’s bemused to see the other man’s bare feet. It somehow feels more intimate then anything that has come before. 

“Come now, little crow. Its warm enough to shed your leathers.” Tormund coaxes. 

Jon supposes he’s right. He pulls off his gloves and sets them aside followed by his sword belt, and Longclaw. His boots follow and he spends a moment wiggling his toes. He brings his hands up to the buckles on the top of his armor but then he stops. He doesn’t know why. He’s taken off his armor more times then he can count. But he can’t bring himself to do it. It’s not like the leathers stopped a blade. 

Tormund approaches him slowly. 

“Do you want help?” He asks, softly, like a loud word will scare Jon away. 

Jon can’t answer. 

Tormund peers at his face and slowly, like he is reaching out to a green horse, watching Jon for any hint of uncomfortableness, lays his hand on Jon’s shoulder, by the buckle. Jon resists the urge to flinch and stands stock still while Tormund gentle removes the layers. 

“You are good at this.” he says trying to distract himself. 

“Eh, got some practice on kneelers on raids. When we had the time it was worth it to strip the bodies, either for ourselves or to trade.” Tormund is matter of fact about it and Jon can appreciate it. Horror and death happened on both sides and he’s glad there is only one side. 

“The first time I wore leathers, I was young. They were a gift from my father.” He wasn’t sure why he was telling Tormund this. “All my life I had known I was a bastard,” He ignored Tormund as he gently peeled away the layers. “but my father always treated me well as he was able. When Robb and I turned 15 we were gifted with our first real sets of armour. I didn’t expect it. Father showed us how to put it on and take them off. I was so proud. I took them back to my room and fumbled into them. I slept in them and in the morning, I was so tangled I couldn’t get them off. I didn’t want to cut them off. I was embarrassed so I stayed in my room through breakfast. Father came for me then. I tried to hide away but he knew. He smiled at me, told me it was okay that he had done the same thing when he got his. He helped me out of them and spent the morning practicing with me. It’s one of my favorite memories.” 

By now he stood in his undershirt and leggings and Tormund was putting the armor to the side. 

“It’s a good memory.” Tormund said. 

Jon don’t know what to do next. Aside from when he was dead, he hasn’t been this vulnerable in front of another person since Ygritte. 

“Come. Lets get some food into you.” Tormund heads into the kitchen and Jon follows for lack of anything better to do. He sits on a bench and the table and watches as Tormund putters around, searching through the packs and boiling water. 

He’s as comfortable in here, stripped out of his layers, handling food, as he is fully clothed and on a battlefield. Jon envies him and the casual strength he displays. This is a man who knows exactly who he is and damn everyone else. 

“You haven’t been eating.” Tormund says as he mixes something. 

“Everything tastes like sawdust.” Jon admits. 

“Having eaten at your Castle, that might be an improvement.” Tormund teases. 

Jon chuckles, the first time since coming back. The smile feels weird and out of place on his lips.

“It’s not just the flavor but how it feels in my mouth, like ash.” He explains. 

Tormund nods and reaches for a little packet. 

“Here, suck on this.” He says with a leer. 

Jon waves him away and opens the packet. Inside are little crumbly brown nubs. He reaches in and brings one to his nose. Its smells sweet but also like spice.

He pops it into his mouth and almost groans in pleasure. Woody sweet explodes across his tongue followed by a bit of heat. 

“I can taste that! What is it?” He wants to reach for another but holds off. 

“Tree sap boiled and laced with a special root. It’s a special treat amongst the freefolk. Each clan has their own way of doing it. I’m surprised you haven’t had it before. 

“I would have remembered. You should have just bought a case of this to Winterfell. They would have tripped over themselves to trade for it.” He takes another piece and just holds it on his tongue. 

“It takes a fair bit of time and effort to make and we’ve been concerned with other things.”

Right, like the dead walking.

Jon says nothing else until Tormund places two bowls of soup on the table with a hunk of bread. 

Jon reaches for the bowl but Tormund stops him. 

“No, smell first. Bring it to your nose and breath.” Tormund directs. 

Jon frowns at him but does has he is told. The broth is hot, steam floating up and for a second Jon just appreciates the sensation. Then he inhales. 

It smells good. Not like the sludge the Night’s Watch serves. He can smell potatoes and meat and spices he has never smelled before. 

“The freefolk carry dried meat and spice pouches traveling when we can. It makes a good meal.”

Jon inhales again and drinks. 

It’s hot and soothing and doesn’t taste like dust or ash. He’s emptied the bowl before he realizes and Tormund just pushes the second bowl over.

Jon drinks that more slowly, enjoying the experience of eating. Something eases in his stomach and in his head where he didn’t realize he had an ache. 

“I had no idea you were so accomplished.” He teases Tormund behind a yawn. He feels like he can sleep for the first time in days. 

“You learn what you need too. There’s enough water in here to last for a few days. Do you want me to warm some so you can bathe?”

Jon wants to say yes. He might actually feel the warmth from the water but he stops. He doesn’t want to see, them, the gashes down his front and he doesn’t want Tormund to see them either, the ugly proof of his failure. 

Tormund reads his face and nods. “We’ll try another time. Go sit by the fire, cuddle your beast. I’ll be there in a bit.”

Jon yawns again and nods already moving to the pile of furs where Ghost has curled up. He doesn’t ever remember being cared for this way. He should feel guilty but all he feels is peace as he settles in, head on Ghost’s flank.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I also cleaned up part 1 a little bit. I hope you enjoyed this. Comments are treasured.

He wakes sometime later curled on his side, facing the fire and feeling rested and warm. He’s covered in a blanket of soft fox furs, as fine as anything found in the south. Ghost is no longer acting as a pillow but is curled up, face shoved into Jon’s belly, one red eye watching him, tail wagging just a little. 

There is a radiating warmth blanketing his back and a heavy weight over his side. Tormund is tucked around him, arm slung over his waist hanging just by Ghost. He can feel the larger man breathing against his back and he has never felt so safe and protected. 

He shifts around and the arm over him tightens and releases. 

“You finally awake?” Tormund’s voice rumbles by his ear. 

Jon nods still drowsy. 

“How long was I asleep?” He asks expecting that it’s only been a few hours. 

“Boy, you slept so long I wasn’t sure you were ever going to wake. It’s been over a day.” Tormund chuckles. 

“What?” Jon turns his head to look at the other man. Tormund is grinning at him and looks softer than Jon can ever remember seeing him. 

“You slept from midday yesterday through the night and through most of today. How are you feeling?”

Jon wants to feel embarrassed about the amount he has slept but it’s hard when he feels better than he has in days. 

“I’m not sure. Rested, and hungry maybe?” Jon can feel his belly grumble. 

“Good.” Tormund pats his hip and rolls over to stand. “Your beastie brought down a deer yesterday and I’ve prepared some of the meat.”

Jon scratches between Ghost’s ears. “Good boy.” He says as he watches Tormund walk into the kitchen. He wonders at this man, forged in the ice of the north, tempered on the threat of the walkers and proud enough for 5 men, yet has cared for Jon so well. He wonders how those calloused hands would feel against his skin and if the other man would be tender or take him roughly. 

He stands and keeps the fox fur blanket wrapped around him and shuffles after Tormund, Ghost leaning into his leg to help support him. 

Tormund is humming and slicing meat onto plates, and Jon can see bread and potatoes already on the plates. 

He sits at the table and watches. “Where did you learn to cook?” He asks. 

“My mother. She made damn sure her sons could take care of themselves. ” Tormund places the dishes on the table and sits. 

Jon grabs a hunk of bread and it’s not nice as what he has known but its soft and filling. The meat is flavored with some of the spices from the day before and he inhales it. 

“Sons? You have brothers?” He asks.

“Aye. I had two older brothers.” Tormund says. 

Jon pauses. “Had?” 

Tormund shrugs. “Lost one to the crows on a raid and the other fights for the Night King now.”

“I’m sorry.” And he is. The amount of wasted lives just because of where they live makes him sad. 

“It’s a hard life and everyone has known loss.” Tormund is pragmatic.   
Jon wants to reassure him but he can’t. Tormund speaks the truth. 

“Isn’t it funny, how little we know of each other, after all we’ve been through together?” He muses. 

Tormund snorts. “I know you are strong and brave and reckless and that you are stupidly loyal. I know that you care about people but are at times so dumb I wish I could smack sense to you. I know you are a good man, Jon Snow, and that’s enough.”

Jon feels himself blush and stares at his plate. 

Tormund starts telling a story from his childhood and the trouble he and his brothers would get into and by the end Jon is laughing so hard he almost can’t breathe. 

“I would have tanned your arses too for that. Your poor mother.” He says, grinning at Tormund. 

Tormund grins back. “It was worth it.” 

Jon gathers his empty dish and Tormund’s and brings them to a bucket filled with water. 

“Leave them.” He turns back but stops when his gaze catches the tub. All the sudden he wants nothing more then to be clean. 

“Do we have enough water?” He asks, gesturing at the tub. 

“Yeah. It will take some time to fill but we do.”

Jon fiddles with the front of his shirt decide, fuck it, he can be selfish this once. 

It does take a while to fill. Tormund has found 2 huge pots for boiling the water and eventually the tub is half full. 

Jon grits his teeth and lifts his shirt off when Tormund’s back is turned. He drops it to the side and forces himself to look down at his torso. He is surprised to find that rather than the gaping wounds that he had mostly expected to never heal, they have scarred up and look like they were made months ago and not days. He brings his hand up to run his finger along one of the scars. He guesses that if he can live again then healing his death wounds aren’t a big deal. He still hates them. 

“They look better. You are still prettier than either of my daughters” Tormund says. 

Jon blushes and turns to hide them from the larger man’s gaze.

“No. Don’t be ashamed of them, never be ashamed of them. You wear those scars with pride.”

“Pride? Over the symbols of my failure?” Jon snarls. 

Tormund grabs his shoulder and spins him around. “They are not symbols of your failure. They are symbols of how much you care, of your strength, of your compassion, of your dedication, your willingness to overlook centuries of hatred to do what is right.” Tormund places his palm over the scar on Jon’s chest. “To me they will always be a symbol of the survival of my people.”

Jon doesn’t know what to do with all of that and just pats Tormund’s hand. 

“Come now, before it gets cold.” Tormund lets go and Jon removes his leggings and steps into the tub. 

Jon worries that the water will be cool when he gets in and is pleasantly surprised to find the water still quite warm. He hasn’t bathed like this in years and groans at the feel of the warm water of his muscles. He can feel knots unwinding and sinks into a boneless heap. 

Tormund empties the second to last post of water into the tub and reaches into one of the packs. He pulls out a small soft looking cloth, a square of soap and a small bottle. 

Jon knows he should wash while the water is still warm but he’s so relaxed that he can’t bring himself to grab the soap and cloth. 

He can hear Tormund chuckle. “Alright, Pretty Crow.”

Jon watches as Tormund lathers the soap and can’t quite keep himself from moaning when the other man starts rubbing it over his shoulders. What follows is the most intimate experience of Jon’s life, even more then sex with Ygritte. There is no part of him that goes untouched by the red-head, from his toes to his scalp. Tormund is slow and thorough and not one inch of Jon is missed. 

By the time Tormund is rinsing his hair, Jon is so hard he aches from it. 

He is standing while Tormund pours clean water over him, cock bobbing against his stomach. 

Jon makes a decision and waits for Tormund to set aside the pot before lurching onto his tip-toes to press his lips to the taller man’s.

Tormund allows the kiss for a moment before pulling away and cracking Jon’s heart.

“Do you want this just because I am here?” Tormund asks, carefully. 

Jon shakes his head. “I think I have wanted this since I was on my knees for you that first time, I just didn’t know it.”

Tormund grins softly. “My pretty little crow.” 

Tormund kisses him with all the passion Jon would expect, wrapping his arms around him and all but lifting him from the tub. 

Jon holds on for dear life and al he can think is ‘home’.

Later when Jon is clad in the soft impractical clothing and curled in front of the fire wrapped in Tormund’s arms feeling well used and well loved, he can be grateful that he is alive, that he did come back. Whatever else that might come, he has the love of this warrior and together they can handle come what may.


End file.
